


Witch Hunt

by Emono



Series: Grass Knuckles AU [1]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff without Plot, Grass Knuckles AU, Husbands, M/M, Paganism, touch of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 13:31:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11738067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emono/pseuds/Emono
Summary: Sometimes small town life can be a blessing, a tiny sanctuary in a busy world. Sometimes it can be a curse. Or - Chuck thinks his alternative views and practices have made him the victim of small town hate. His husband is there to support him every step of the way.





	Witch Hunt

**Ron and Chuck are husbands who travel and write but have a house and settle down most of the year in Currahee. Chuck is Pagan and practices alternative medicine and runs an alternative apothecary in town. Here's[the tag](http://emono-omae.tumblr.com/tagged/grass-knuckles-au) on my tumblr for this AU. This is a pre-prologue to the series. If you want to see more of the series, hit me up, would love to hear your thoughts**

 

* * *

 

 

The news played in the background as Chuck shuffled around in the kitchen. Ron had his husband’s rough draft spread out along the coffee table and was making notes and corrections as he read, crimson ink slashing through words and circling around particularly intriguing phrases. They took turns editing for one another. Chuck poured over history texts and retellings and Ron got to sort through recipes and alternative medical practices. They each had two published books under their belts and copies of each stayed on their shelves as a reminder of what they’d accomplished with one another. Though their audiences were vastly different, they still considered them joint accomplishments. Ever since they’d met they had pushed one another in their endeavors, their marriage was practically built on it. 

 

For nearly a year of their engagement, Ron had been wrapped up in a project in Normandy and Chuck had been in Estonia to learn the traditions and old magic that laid in the community. They’d only seen each other a handful of times despite being only thirty hours away. Their projects had taken them to Germany and Ireland respectively by Christmas and they finally reunited in time for Valentine’s Day. It had been quite a romantic and productive year. 

 

But eventually they had talked about a place to settle and they’d decided on the states. While Chuck had some distant relatives still scattered around France, mostly in beautiful Rouen, Ron had close family he wanted to be with. Two of his sisters had found husbands in the small town of Currahee, Georgia and that’s where Ron had wanted to be. His sisters had fallen in love with the countryside and were dedicated to having big families, two kids each already after only a couple of years. Seeing how happy they were, Ron had sat his husband down and asked about buying a house there. He wanted to watch his nieces and nephews grow up, to help raise them, to be with his growing family since both his parents had passed.

 

How could Chuck say no? 

 

Just like Ron’s sisters, they had fallen in love with Currahee. 

 

Now Chuck bustled around their well equipped kitchen making several things for the cook out the next day. He was making a BBQ sauce, a mullberry pie, prepping baked mac’n’cheese that would be ready to pop in the oven about an hour before they left, and sealing off bags of chicken filled with a citrus glaze that would marinate overnight. At the last minute he decided to mix up two batches of cookies from scratch, one savory and one chocolate. 

 

“You’re going to be up all night at this rate,” Ron teased lightly, pushing his glasses up with the back of his hand. 

 

Chuck hummed lowly as he washed the flour from his hands. “I just want to bring everything I can. I never really get to cook for anyone unless it’s one of these things so I try to make a good impression.”

 

“Everyone already loves you,” Ron grumbled under his breath, glaring at the TV.

 

“I keep inviting people over for dinner, but most of the time…” Chuck trailed off, brow furrowed up. “I don’t know. It seems like something always comes up.”

 

“You’re invited to places nearly every day,” Ron pointed out.

 

“It’s not the same,” Chuck huffed, drying his hands on the towel he kept on the oven door. He turned and leaned against the counter, palms pressed to the edges so hard they threatened to leave indentions. He stared down at the floor as the old fear he kept quiet about resurfaced with a vengeance. His chest went tight and he tried to keep it inside, clenching his teeth until they ached, but he couldn’t be silent any longer. “Do you think…?”

 

“Think what?” Ron urged, hearing the hurt in his husband’s tone. When he stayed quiet, Ron sat up and laid the pages down. He slid his glasses up into his hair and gave his full attention. “Chuck?”

 

“What if they think I’m...doing something to their food? What if they think it’s worse in the house with me?”

 

The question made no sense and Ron was baffled. “That it tastes worst? Chuck, you’re an amazing cook.”

 

“No, I mean-” Chuck gestured at the rack on the wall where the regular spices were alphabetized alongside the more exotic ones. “What if they think something’s wrong with this place? That I’m only inviting people I hold a grudge against or something?”

 

“Chuck, what are you talking about?”   
  


  
“For Christ’s sake, Ron, don’t be dense!” Chuck barked, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You know what I’m talking about!”

 

Ron was taken aback by the raised voice but he still snorted in disbelief. “You think _they_ think you’re cursing their food? That you’re going to put some hex on them if they come here?”

 

“We bought this place six months ago and I can’t get anyone to come over! They’re nice to me to my face but what if...how I am is too much?” He bit his lip to try and keep it from trembling. “Maybe I shouldn’t have been as honest as I have. I never wanted to hide but I don’t want...whatever this is. I want a _home_ , Ron.”

 

Chuck rubbed a hand over his face and his shoulders slumped. Ron hurried to get up but stopped when his husband held out a hand to stop him. “Don’t. I’m going to go to bed. Can you pull the cookies out when the timer goes off? And-”

 

“I’ll take care of it,” Ron soothed.

 

He gently took Chuck’s hand when he passed and kissed his cheek, murmuring how much he loved him. Chuck smiled weakly and brushed a kiss across his mouth, returning the sentiment. 

 

Ron waited until Chuck was gone before he slumped back down onto the couch. He buried his face in his hands and swallowed back a groan. This was all his fault. He was such a possessive, selfish bastard and he deserved to rot for putting that look on his husband’s face. _He_ was the reason Chuck’s dinner invitations were almost always sabotaged. Everyone in Currahee was half in love with Chuck and they weren’t shy about showing it. He couldn’t blame them. His husband was intelligent and charming, handsome as all hell, and could cure aches with just his hands and some tea. He was a catch.

 

And Ron was...a complete bastard. He never verbally threatened anyone but he knew the looks he gave. He was aware of the weight of his glare, the way his jaw would set, and the quiet way he moved, all combined to give him a certain image in the community.  It was one he did little to change because it kept competition away. Ron had his own friends, so did Chuck, and he’d never do anything to disrupt that. It was just that sometimes it seemed of their friends were a little too eager to spend more private time with Chuck.

 

He was such a prick. Only a creep of a husband would think that way. 

 

Ron made a decision just as the timer went off for the cookies. He would fix this.

 

o0o0o0o

 

The cookout ended up kicking off around early dinner at the Winters-Nixon ranch and the turnout was huge. Everyone brought something and it turned it into something special. The kids were let out of school just in time for the first round of food and their laughter spread through the field. Renee brought all sorts of fresh buns and Shifty provided all the veggies they could wish for to top their hamburgers with. The ranch itself provided the meat and a couple of the hands tried their best at sides.

 

Everything Chuck brought was a huge hit, as usual. As his husband was busy thanking Dick for hosting the cookout, Ron made his move. He found the golden trio by the dessert table arguing about cake versus pie and rather isolated. 

 

“Boys.”

 

Malark yelped and dropped his cookie. Skip choked on his drink and Penkala full on jumped. They all knocked into each other trying to escape but Ron had closed them in between the crease of two tables. They shoved at each other, muttering under their breaths, then put on polite expressions.

 

“Hey, Ron!” Skip spoke up first. “What’s up, buddy?” 

 

Malark made a sour face and mouthed ‘ _ what’s up, buddy? _ ’ in sheer disbelief. 

 

“I want you to go ask Chuck if you can come over tomorrow for dinner,” Ron stated, throwing his chin toward his husband. “And you’re going to sound enthusiastic about it. You’re going to beg him, you understand? I don’t care how much he says no.”

 

Penk opened and closed his mouth, struggling for the right words. He looked to Malark for support but he had a similar dumbfounded look.

 

“We love Chuck!” Skip blurted.

 

“I know,” Ron bit out. “But he’s convinced everyone in this town thinks he’s a fucking witch you’re planning to burn at the stake.”

 

Malark looked floored, as did his friends. “What the fuck?”

 

“That was my reaction,” Ron scoffed. “But he’s got it in his head. So spread the word. I want everyone stopping over at least once in the next couple months. The sooner the better.”

 

“It’s not that we don’t want to come over,” Penk insisted.

 

“It’s just, you know,” Skip continued hesitantly. 

 

Malark tried to pick it up. “Well, it’s, uh…”

 

“I won’t be there,” Ron cut in. “And if I am, I won’t be in the same room. So can you guys get your heads out of your asses and make my husband feel like he has friends? Or do I have to use your fat heads for target practices?”

 

“Nope! Nope, no need for that,” Skip babbled, hooking his arm with Malark. “Hey, look guys, there’s Chuck! Let’s go tell him how good his cookies are.”  
  
  
  
“I think we should all have dinner. Don’t you think that?” Penk hurried, pushing both men past Ron. “Dinner sounds great. Party at Chuck’s house!”

 

Malark got some color back in his face and waved at Chuck from across the yard. “Hey Chuck! This food is great!”

 

Later that night when Chuck crawled into Ron’s lap with the hundred watt smile and a new eagerness to his kisses, he decided that would be the last time he let his jealousy get in the way of his husband’s happiness. 

 

 


End file.
